heads will roll
by quorra laraex
Summary: There's a little bit of devil in her angel eyes. — Soul/Maka, burlesque AU.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n:** I'm alive and this is a terribly short chapter, I'm sorry. And yes i will continue the fics I have left behind for some time. (i blame school)  
so this is based off the movie Burlesque. Except Soul/Maka style. Minor changes to fit their characters. Tell me whatcha think?

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**heads will roll**

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It's a night like yesterday; with the perfect amount of busy, the kind of busy he's able to sneak past through in clandestine nonchalance to light himself a smoke and lean against the back counter to watch Tsubaki lip-sync to Marilyn in nothing but sheer. Not that he'd plan to watch her particular show. He just _really_ needed a stoge. And well, she was Star's girl, anyways. His best bud had his eyes on her since the very beginning.

He inhales a bit more before crushing it into an ashtray somewhere off to his right. Boss would kill him if she caught him smoking on the job again. He runs calloused fingers through his light hair and pulls out a Jack from the cabinet for the throng of women propped on the barstools along the marble counter, practically begging for the whiskey. _Easy now_, girls, he'd say. And if Black Star had been working that night, they would've bet which of the women could last the longest before throwing themselves at a random man in a suit and a slick tie, the ones that had business cards and a cabaret that would take them to a penthouse for a one-nighter.

Not that Soul objectified women. For fuck's sake, many of his best friends were burlesque dancers at this pub, anyways. It was just entertaining to see the amount of girls who didn't make it through to be an entertainer at Deathly Burlesque, drink themselves up until they got laid. It's happened – quite frequently, too. He'd been working there long enough.

He checks his watch sometime after, waiting for his shift to end. Unfortunately, he'd be the one to close up that night, and it'd only been a little after eight when he'd be leaving at three a.m. Cool, he thinks with ennui reflected in his eyes. He loosens his red tie and unbuttons the top of his collared white shirt, idly while shrugging against the bar.

It isn't until he notices a blonde head in a short distance ahead of him – distinct because of the way her hair had been tied up – when he's distracted. "Hey, Pigtails!"

She pivots on her heels, lime-like eyes wandering until she meets his gaze, mocking and electric. Her pace as she walks over to him exposes her skepticism and as soon as she's right in front of him (the counter between their stomachs) he fiddles with an end of her lock of hair.

"You know, there's an elementary school on the other side of town if you're lost," he mentions with a crooked smile and joking eyes.

"If I was in elementary school, I'd have probably smacked you with a book right about now," she says, her voice light, melodic even. "Tell me," she begins, roaming her eyes on his chest to find his name imprinted in gold on the black vest he'd been wearing. "—Soul, what's a girl gotta do to get up on that stage?"

"Well first off, you needa pass the age requirements, Pigtails…" he continues to tease, starting to like the way she flushes even under these dim lights. Before she could retaliate, he moves his thumb and forefinger to one of her ponytails and pulls the elastic off, mimicking his movements with her second hair tie. "You can't go to my boss with your hair like that, Blondie."

She looks at him with gentle eyes, combing through her tresses with her hands before leaning against the edge of the counter to reach for his tie. Her pale, slender fingers rake past his shoulders in order to reach a part of it, pulling it forward and adjusting it so it's even looser. He watches her movements, questioningly.

"What're you doing?"

"If you're gonna try that tired, sexy-kind of look guys do after a wedding or something with their hair messy and their tie loose, you gotta do it right," the smirk on her pretty pink lips grow identical to his as she runs her own hand (so, _so_ small in comparison to his) along his head to edge up spikes of white.

_Full of surprises_, he thinks in a slight awe. He doesn't realize his mouth's transition to a more genuine smile.

"What?" _Fuck_. She caught his slip.

"It suits you. You should wear your hair down more often," he murmurs, yet doesn't wait for her reaction, pointing to a door beside the stage behind her, past the tables and the fiasco of men and women in a drunken hazard. "Go through there and look for a 'Liz'. Tell her that I sent you."

She's thoughtful when she thanks him, and he watches as her brows rise when he asks for her name. "Maka Albarn."

And then she's off, pretty blonde out of sight, through the door leading off to backstage in hopes for a job at such an unexpected place for such a pristine girl, leaving him with only a name and wonder.

**tbc.**


	2. Chapter 2

**heads will roll**

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On feather-light tiptoes, Maka slips her way past conjoined tables and intricately carved chairs and through the doorway. She walks up rounds of steps before she's immediately located inside a dressing room with about a dozen vanities and tons costumes lined up on every single wall. There's a surplus of lipstick and pearls and a radiant aroma of cherry blossoms. Behind a file of corsets, the blonde sees a man organizing the pile by—_what_; color? Size?—some sort of accordance. He looked quite odd, random stripes on dark bangs and glowing, golden eyes that she'd caught sight of for less than a second. He'd been too busy arranging that he took no mind to her.

The thought of strange immediately dissipates, sooner than it had come. Everyone in this joint had been quite strange looking anyways. Like Soul.

"Excuse me?" she waves an arm to capture his attention, which she receives in an ignorant manner. His gaze flickers upward for, again, less than a second before he resumes his task with the skimpy clothing. Still encouraged, she continues. "Where can I find Liz?"

The man, probably a few years older than she'd been, (to her guess, most likely gay) calls out said name without even turning his head. A tall, graceful, dirty blonde struts from another door, closed off with candy-purple translucent beads. She has blue eyes and diamonds around her neck and she doesn't care to hide the way her gaze follows Maka up and down in a condescending manner before placing a manicured hand on the man's shoulder.

Her bold red lips open, prepared to finally release words from her system. "Kidd, who's this?"

Intervening, "Maka Albarn, I'm a friend of Soul and I'm looking for a job."

Liz laughs, and Kidd continues arranging on, dulled. "Well, we are lacking on clean-up…"

"Hon', I think she wants to dance."

"Dance?" The tall, model-like figure looks at Maka incredulously. The girl can tell in the way that Liz bites her tongue after having her mouth ajar for several seconds more that she decides not to tease any further. "Look, sweetheart, if there are any positions open, which I doubt there will be, you can leave all your information with Kidd, here, and we'll give you a call."

Underestimated and ignored from any further comments, Kidd informs her to say all her information aloud with the excuse of not having a pen and paper handy.

"How will you remember it?" she asks, curiously, oblivious to the irritation building up on his part at this quirky girl who insisted for a job – a job that required training. All their dancers had had professional help and worked extremely hard. He and Liz had no tolerance for anything less.

He gives her an eye, large and annoyed, and keeps his mouth lips tight as dancers from the last number waltz in with six inch too tall high heels, eyelashes flashy, and chests flashier. They have identical jewelry and feathers in their untamed curls; gorgeous bombshells paying no mind to her as they sit in their assigned vanities and ready themselves for whatever comes next. Kidd pulls one of them aside, a girl with short, pink hair (that Maka can't determine whether a wig or not) and tightens her bustier a tad more. He mumbles something about having her breasts symmetrical and if it weren't, the whole enchilada wouldn't be right.

Maka's distracted when another girl taps her on the shoulder, a girl with an eccentric stare, menacing to match her voice, "I'll have a tequila."

Before mumbling the predictable, the simple _oh, I don't work here_, Maka tips her head slightly in a smile and politely (yet totally ironic) states, "Coming right up."

Boots squeaking as she plunges down the spiral stairs, the blonde takes initiative when she makes her way back to that strange bartender with five different orders from four other tables and a tray she's found God knows where.

/

Her voice, just as naïve (_how manipulative_, he thinks) as she seems to be, attracts him. _Her_, though—on the other hand, is a completely different story. Bossy, arrogant, and along the lines of bitchy, is what she happens to be as she pushes him around for drinks and does _his_ job. The girl's definitely going to make him look bad in front of Liz. And what's worse? She's just as stubborn as him; unwilling to give up her pointless attempt at acquiring for a job.

He whistles through jagged teeth to capture her attention, to which she responds with a cold look.

"I'm not a dog, you know," she tells him, chin up and hair braided. Must've done it while serving.

"You're also not getting paid, you know," Soul mimics while he grabs a towel from under the counter to wipe across the puddles of vodka and beer in between them. She wonders what they tasted like, her eyes on the spilt alcohol a second too late – proven in the way he catches her. Pretending-ly awkward, he offers, "Would you… like a swig or something?"

Her gaze shoots up back to his abruptly, prodding and annoyingly charming. "No drinking on the job."

"What about a shot?" Soul insists with a half smile.

"Very funny."

She swipes her uneven bangs to the side of her head and pins them down, shifting toward tables near the back to get their order. (since apparently, the waiters haven't been doing their best that night – and he did suppose that there were little on the job, especially since Ox had called in sick) If he'd been here, there'd really be no problem. In fact, he and this new girl could definitely get into an argument over who'd been working more efficiently. Soul could already see it.

Losers.

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It's a little before midnight when the boss and Kidd find their bottoms on empty stools beside their bartender, chatting it up about how snarky Medusa'd been getting with all the fame and attention on her. The girl had become the star of the show, after-all, receiving the front page on the paper, the spotlight, and the most money. Liz had always known Medusa was gorgeous, not so much to outshine the others, for they'd been dolls as well, but she did have to admit Medusa knew how throw a show all on her own. It'd been to the point that men had the urge to throw cash onto that stage, despite knowing she wouldn't strip completely bare or sell herself.

_That's_ how effective she'd become.

Said girl, eyes glossy and head misplaced in stardom, slides down the metal pole centerfold during the slow start of a slow jazz number and is successful in captivating all the customers, including Maka's, who'd given her a tequila much earlier that night. She watches every movement in a mixture of quiet observation and admiration. She'll practice the same dance from memory when she gets home.

/

"Evans, what's that girl doing?" Liz asks, snapping her attention from her nail file to the new waitress gliding through circular tables.

"Persistent, isn't she?" Soul laughs, eyes glazed under the usual violet hue of the place.

Liz doesn't stop her curious, yet intimidating stare upon the assertive girl. After the particular moment of judgment, she asks him for her name and gestures for her. Maka quietly steadies toward her, slightly afraid of the aura this woman held over her, yet strong enough to not allow her eyes to roam downcast. Chin up, she waits.

"What makes you think you're applicable for a place like this, dollface?" Liz drums her fingers repeatedly along her crossed knee patiently, her other hand still holding a nail file and her blue pools unmoving.

In this moment, Maka had two options. She could break it down from the beginning – open up to how she'd left her hometown because of her mother's wishes and her father's abandonment, practically homeless and living off approximately three hundred dollars and she really, really needed a job and she swore to god she was even talented enough for that stage – or she could cut it simply and not look like she wanted their false pity.

"I served at a diner once, back at my hometown near the outskirts of San Francisco," the Albarn says in truth.

"Is that right?" is the response she receives in return, and Maka isn't sure if she's teasing her by the impressed, condescending expression on her face. "And now small town girl has moved from there to Nevada? That's kind of strange, isn't it?"

"Look, ma'am, if you really have a problem with me simply taking orders from your customers and satisfying them, then kick me out," Maka points out, allowing her attitude to take charge. She had no tolerance for being interrogated in that manner. "But know that _I'm_ the reason this place isn't in shambles tonight."

The blue in her eyes slightly drain when her orbs bulge for a mere second in the unexpected comment, but a smirk begins to show on her matte coloured mouth. Soul tries his best to muffle a snicker at this girl's demeanor. Nobody talked to Elizabeth Thompson like that.

The petite blonde sets down the silver tray, and shuts her mouth, preparing for her leave. She supposes she could find another job. Although that really hadn't been on the to-do-list.

"Look," there's something genuine in the way she speaks, to which stops Maka on her heel and turns back. "Never, _ever_ call me 'ma'am'. The job's yours, doll. Wait all the tables ya like."

Eyelashes fluttering, Maka resumes to her work and saunters over to a table to refill a man's iced glass.

From the same stools, Liz and Soul watch her in curiosity, wondering just how devious she seemed to be.

"The girl certainly has some good tactics," Kidd declares beside the both of them, taking a sip of water and yawning.

**tbc.**

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******a/n:** so you may already be aware that the summary of the fic is a lyric from a country song which (personally) turns me off because i'm not into country music and it was not the inspiration of the fic. I just realllly like that lyric and it describes Maka in this story perfectly. So. Yeah. also i'm a terrible updater when it comes to little reviews. i really am. so any comment?


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